Welcome to Tombstone
by ABDonovan
Summary: AU: What if Daryl was a notorious outlaw in the late 1800's? "Tombstone" Dixon has a bounty on his head that could buy enough land for 1000 head of cattle. After a tragedy rocks his world, he's left with a decision: Redemption or Death.
1. Preview: Welcome To Tombstone

**Preview: Welcome To Tombstone**

**Let me introduce this story to you guys. It'll give you a brief overview of how it will work out. The preview stems from a Roleplay that was almost started, and failed. It prompted me to write a huge fanfiction about it that I'm very very excited for. I will credit my partner with anything he feels necessary, because all ideas are my own – except his description of Daryl.**

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The frontier country can be miserable. It can be the type of setting that would drive a normal man to the brinks of hell, in his mind, and will drag him back to do it over again. There are deserts in the middle of lush grasslands, bears in the mountains that will tear you limb from limb, and outlaws that want whatever you have. If you're a woman…they want more than that.

This is the story of one of those outlaws. His name is Daryl Dixon. You may know him better as "Tombstone" Dixon where you're from, but as far as he's concerned, the name makes him a joke. It makes him look like a character in a dime novel. Hell…he probably was one.

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Let's introduce Daryl, shall we?

Name: Daryl "Tombstone" Dixon

Born: 1851 (aged 38)

[REFERENCE PICS FOR DARYL WILL BE ON MY PAGE, UNDER "WELCOME TO TOMBSTONE"!]

If not for his reputation, he's terrifying in his ways. He's always had to fight. He's always had to fight for his life. So, his mannerisms are very shaky, very jumpy and sporatic. He's rough, even when he doesn't want to be.

Born in Georgia, Daryl was the second eldest child in his family. His father and older brother fought in the Civil War but were both killed at the Battle of Gettysburg fighting with the 17th Georgia Volunteer Infantry; Benning's Brigade. His mother was left to raise him and his three younger siblings alone until she had fallen ill shortly after the end of the war, and died from fever. Orphaned and with nowhere to go, Daryl fell in with a rough crowd and started his career at the age of sixteen as an outlaw.

Daryl killed his first man not too long after and formed his own gang, which gained notoriety throughout the South as "Tombstone Dixon and the Devil's Company". His skills as a gunfighter can only be matched by the years he spent with his father and brother hunting, tracking and spending weeks in the wilderness.

Currently, his whereabouts are unknown, though some reports suggest he's moving west toward the frontier states. He travels in a gang of seven outlaws, all wanted men and considered extremely dangerous. The bounty on Dixon's head is set at "$5,000 Dead or Alive", he is wanted for killing 20 people and is claimed to be involved in countless other murders.

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Here's Clara.

Name: Clara Mayberry

Born: 1869 (Aged 20)

[REFERENCE PIC WILL BE POSTED WITH THE DARYL PICS]

Biography:

Clara was born into a loving family, but it was stripped away from her when she was only a toddler. Her mother and father ended up trapped inside of their small home after it caught fire in the middle of the night. A lot of people wondered how she survived, but only cared that she did. It was a miracle of God.

Now, at the age of 19, she's grown up. She's mature, and a lady, but when she needs to be, she's a little less than one. She loves to ride horses, and would rather be out hunting for sport than sitting around, doing the women's jobs.

She can often be found with her hair stuffed under a hat, a tight bandana covering her breasts, posing as a man to gamble in nearby towns. Though, if she was caught, she fears she would be stuck in the house for the rest of her life. So, before coming back into town, she finds a back way in, and attempts to convince her family she has simply been tending to the horses. How long that will last, she has no idea.

Her piano playing has improved, having a chance to play when the others are away. On her rides in and out of town, there are times when she stops to play at the local saloons, keeping a gun in the garter around her leg to fend off the men who have way too much time on their hands, but nothing to offer in the looks department. The gun is a derringer type pea shooter, but it would get the job done.

While in Winston, her attitude is posh and proper. She smudges her eyes and powders her nose. Her hair is brushed straight and pulled back in a small tie, and her dress is properly mended, even though it covers a tattered pair of riding boots. While on the road, however, she's about as close to a man as you can get…and sometimes she fears that it will get her killed if she ran into the wrong crowd.

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**This doesn't set you up for much, but I felt that you needed to be introduced to the characters, their mannerisms, and everything. Review and tell me what you think. I'll have a first chapter up after I think it over. I'm still going to be working on my other fic, but this is a little gem that some of you will appreciate.**

**It's completely AU, and bringing Clara together with Daryl will be great for everyone. I can't wait.**

**Hope you enjoyed,**

**A.B.**


	2. Chapter 1: The Devil's Company

**A/N: Here it is, the first chapter of "Welcome To Tombstone". I'm very proud of this, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. None of this is pre-planned and was all written on the fly. That's why it will always keep you guessing, because honestly, it kept me guessing while I was writing it. **

**Pay close attention to details and enjoy the ride! Don't forget to leave a review for me! **

**Lots of love.**

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Chapter 1: The Devil's Company

"Ya ready?", he spoke in a voice that only became raspier with every cigarette. His horse shifted nervously beneath him, as if it sensed exactly what it was taking him to. He had to admit that he was nervous, as he always was. Over twenty years of living on the run, taking what he needed, and leaving no loose ends untied; Still, it made him nervous.

His men stayed quiet, a couple smoking cigarettes, and a couple more not wanting to say a word. They feared him, as much as the common city folk did, fearing his explosive nature and spontaneous trigger finger.

"What exactly is yer plan, Dixon?", the youngest member of the group, Zed, spoke up from the back. He was merely fifteen years old, a baby compared to the hardened soldiers Daryl tended to run with, but he was ruthless in his ways. He was loyal. He was the second in command, if anything happened to their leader. He didn't turn to the kid, only pointed forward.

"Mart…Zed…You'll take the side there. I don't want no mouths to feed. Tie up who you can, kill any that struggle. I'll take the front, me and Jarvis…"

"And we'll do yer dirty work for ya, right? When's the cut gon' be straight, man?", a man, Shane, rang out. Daryl gritted his teeth. The past few months, Shane had been a pain in his ass. The man did nothing but bitch and moan about things that Daryl considered set in stone. He was the leader. He made the tough calls. The group followed, got their money, and went on. They got to have their fun with the women, shoot their guns every now and then, and they stayed out of his way.

"Not today…", Daryl said simply, and Shane rolled his eyes, with a scoff, "Yer either in, or yer out."

With that, he kicked the sides of his horse, and trotted down the hill. The townsfolk never saw them coming. They almost welcomed them, as they made their way down Main Street. Each man broke off, filing to their respective locations, to carry out their jobs. Daryl led his horse to a small corral, smiling and tipping his hat politely at a local lady walking by.

"Excuse me, miss…", he called to her, stepping down from his horse, as Jarvis, his current right-hand man followed suit, "Do you mind helpin' me with somethin'?"

The lady narrowed her eyes at him, but smiled. Daryl returned the smile, raising his head a bit to look down at her from under his low-lying hat. Internally, he took a deep breath, and decided that it was time…time to act.

He attacked, grabbing the woman into his arms. She shrieked, struggling to move away from him. Her hands came up to his hair, knocking his hat from his head, before his own hand reached down, unsheathing his knife. He quickly brought the knife to her throat, and pressed, "Shh, now. There's no reason for you to die bloody…relax…"

Her sobs drowned out much of what he was saying, as Jarvis picked up his hat, dusted it off, and placed it back atop his head. Jarvis then pulled the bandana from around his neck, covering his mouth and nose with an evil smirk. Daryl almost winced at how ready the man was to possibly kill this entire town. Maybe, in his age, Daryl was growing soft. He shook his head, going through the motions he had been through a million times, it seemed.

"Please…I have money. Just let me go…", the woman sobbed, bringing Daryl back to her. He looked down at her tear stained face for a few seconds, before he shushed her again. Instead of shushing, she began sobbing louder. He rolled his eyes and signaled for Jarvis to open the door. The bank was the largest building in town. Usually, they weren't robbers. They were terrorists, scaring and pillaging, taking whatever they found along the way. This bank, however, was part of that list. There was a point to be made here, in a building that was wallpapered with photos of Daryl and his men. They were above the law. No matter what Grimes said, or did, they were above him, and his cavalry.

Jarvis took a deep breath, and shoved through the doors of the bank, revolver drawn. Daryl looked around, dragging his hostage with him, as Jarvis began screaming orders to the men and women.

"Alright!", Jarvis yelled excitedly, "Let's have a party! Nah-ah-ah, lil' miss. Stop yer movin'…"

Daryl turned his attention to a woman behind the counter, who was now holding her hands in front of her in protest to Jarvis. Apparently, she had been creeping to the back. Where was Shane? He turned his attention around the room, catching a glimpse of Zed, with his woman, and Mart with his.

"What's yer name, sweetheart?", he whispered into the ear of his victim. Her eyes squeezed shut in fear again, and she began sobbing. In frustration, Daryl pressed the knife a little further into her skin, "Yer NAME!"

"Mary! My name…My name is Mary!", she cried out, and he loosened his grip a bit.

"How many of y'all know Mary, here?", he called out to the hostages behind the counter. All of them raised their hands, and he smiled in satisfaction, "Good…good. Jarvis…"

Jarvis nodded, throwing a bag to one of the gray haired men behind the counter. He tapped his gun along the top of the wood slab in front of him, and pointed to the ground safe, "Chop, chop!"

The man turned, shakily, and began turning the knob on the safe, as another man spoke up. His chest was puffed out, and he spoke with authority.

"You'll never get away with this, Tombstone. Have you seen the bounty on your head?", he spoke to Daryl directly. Jarvis' face turned into a menacing smirk, and he turned to a poster on the wall. Daryl smiled, his oddly white teeth sparkling in the dim light of the sun that peeked through the window.

"What? This?", he asked, tearing down one of the posters. He held it up, and smirked, "Tombstone Daryl Dixon and the Devil's Company! Well, now…That's got a nice little ring to it. The Devil's…Company…"

"Devil's Company…", Jarvis repeated, raising an eyebrow in return. Daryl turned the poster to Jarvis, still smiling, "$5000! Woo-wee…That's a lot of dough for a sorry sumbitch's head…"

"Ain't it though?", Daryl mused. He kicked the back of his hostage's legs, bringing her to her knees, and then shoved her back against a wall, roughly. He pointed to her with his knife, and smiled, "Just sit pretty…'kay?"

With a terrified nod, she complied, placing her hands in her lap, as she stared at the tip of his knife. Turning back to the old man, he stepped forward, and the man continued his threats.

"Sheriff Grimes will have yer head on a stick, Dixon! He's out and about…If he catches wind…"

"Sheriff Rick…Grimes?", Daryl asked in a mocking tone, he smirked to Jarvis, and stepped even closer to the man, "Tell him somethin' for me…"

"Wha…?", the man started before Daryl's elbow smashed into his nose, shattering the bones. Blood splattered the counter below, and the man sunk down the wall groaning in pain.

"Now, then! Let's all just sit tight! Nobody has to die…", Jarvis started, before noticing that the woman he had threatened before, was now running through the back door. He pulled his gun up, and fired, shooting her in the back of the head. That was the beginning of the end. Daryl stopped moving, staring at the woman as she fell to the ground, her blood painting the wall in front of her a grisly red. He closed his eyes for a second, taking a breath through his nose to calm the annoyance that was threatening to kill Jarvis where he stood.

"God DAMMIT JARVIS!", he screamed, opening his eyes. They were on fire. The gunshot would have attracted half the damn town. Not to mention the fact that now there was a dead bitch lying in the corral out back, "You had one job. Yer here to watch my back, collect my money…Who the fuck gave you a gun?!"

"You did, boss…", Jarvis spoke up to the rhetorical question. Daryl brought his hand across Jarvis' face, startling him a bit with the slap.

"Just…g-get the god damn money and let's go. I let you have a little fun and you fuck us…You FUCK EVERYTHING UP!", he screamed, spit flying in all directions, spraying Jarvis' face. Jarvis took a deep breath, watching Daryl's knife as he swung it around in the air with every word. The fear was ever present that today was the day he fucked up, and would be the next of Daryl's group to go down for a mistake. It was the way of the Devil's Company. You're either in, or you're out. If you're out, you're pushing up daisies.

"Man, I-I'm sorry. I…I really am. I just…she was just. She was goin' out the door…for the street. What if she got that Sheriff over here with his posse. You prepared for that?", Jarvis pleaded to Daryl, causing Daryl to close his eyes in frustration. No, he wasn't ready for it. This wasn't the plan. They came in. They raised a little Hell. They tormented a few folk, and the stories were retold after they were gone. It wasn't commonplace for anyone to die, unless they didn't cooperate. By all technical purposes, Jarvis was in the right with his decision.

"It was a broad…", Daryl explained, sheathing his knife. He turned to the group of people, to check them for runners. A few seemed to be moving for weapons, "QUIT MOVIN'! GET UP AGAINST THE WALL! DO IT!"

He pulled his weapon, eliciting screams from the women, as his infamous Colt revolver scanned the room. He pulled the hammer back, and pointed at each person, individually. It was the point that they had all heard of. It was the moment in the stories where things went south. Tombstone Dixon was seeing red.

"Where's Shane?", Daryl asked Jarvis, looking over his shoulder at the younger man. Jarvis peered around, and shrugged.

"I'll go out back and see 'bout that…", he answered. Daryl motioned for him to get moving, and pressed his gun toward the man behind the counter who was still stuffing money into the bag Jarvis had handed him.

"Empty it! Hurry up!", he screamed. His patience was waning and his tolerance level was zero as the man continued stuffing, a little faster. Once finished, the bag was tossed up onto the counter, "Zed…bag…"

Zed complied, running as fast as he could to grab the bag of cash. His hands fumbled, tying the bag shut. Daryl sighed, turning in a circle to check all of the hostages as Jarvis returned. His hands were covered in blood, and his face held a story that Daryl wasn't sure he wanted to hear.

"Shane's gone, man…", Jarvis whispered, fear spread across his face at how Daryl would react to the news, "He…He shot Randall…Kid just died on me…"

"Shit…", Daryl hissed, bringing his gun up to his forehead in frustration. He rubbed it across his brow, and began to think over his options. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. This wasn't the way things worked. Shane was a dead man. It was only a matter of time before they crossed paths again. Now they were two men short, and in a load of trouble. A shout from outside complicated things, even more. Daryl turned, staring through the dirty window as a group of at least twenty men arrived, "SHIT! Jarvis! Go! Out the door, now! C'mon princess…"

Daryl reached down; grabbing the hostage he had brought in, and began dragging her through the tellers booths, out to the back of the bank. Hopefully, their horses were still where they left them. He felt Zed hot on his feet, the moneybag weighing him down. Smart plan Dixon, letting the kid carry the cash.

"You're surrounded, Dixon!", a familiar voice sounded, sending chills down Daryl's spine.

"Go…Get outside…", he murmured to Zed, as the boy stopped and glanced between his eyes for signs that he needed help. Zed hesitated, furrowing his brow at the answer.

"But, he'll kill you, sir…", Zed whispered. Daryl grabbed his shirt, balling it in his fist, and shoved him through the door.

"Go!", he yelled, keeping eye contact with the kid until Jarvis took him away. Daryl turned, pulling his revolver with a shaky hand. He opened the chamber, and then flicked it shut, satisfied. He brought himself out into the open, placing the gun against Mary's head.

"Well…", the Sheriff mused, smirking. His own hand was laid upon his Colt revolver, still resting in its holster, "If it ain't 'Tombstone Dixon' himself…"

"And yer Rick _Grimes_, I presume. Little scrawny for the threats you hand out, there…"

"Speak for yerself.", the Sheriff scoffed, removing his hat. He handed it to a woman, causing Daryl to flinch and his gun to falter against Mary's head, "Easy, now…I ain't here to hurt you, Dixon…"

"Oh yeah?", Daryl asked in a shaky voice, before clearing his throat. Sure. You couldn't go by stories, but this man's reputation spoke for itself. He was either ruthless, or he was a pussy…and had a big gun. Either way, he made Daryl nervous, "That why you issued my head on a plate, round here?"

"I didn't issue anythin'. State wants you gone…finished. They want you to hang for what you've done. I can't say I'd mind that at all, but I have a proposition for you."

Daryl narrowed his eyes, his head tilting to the side a bit in confusion. The sheriff was bargaining with him? He shifted to his other foot, prepared to listen. Blood splattered the Sheriff and the woman beside him, as one of his men fell to the ground, light peering through a bullet hole in his forehead. Shit. Daryl acted quickly, shoving Mary forward and jumping behind a counter, as the Sheriff drew his gun, and reacted on the shooter.

"Now…C'mon Sheriff! You know that ain't how it works with us!", he heard Jarvis call out, the street oddly quiet for them to be 'surrounded', "You shoulda gathered better shooters…"

Daryl closed his eyes again, bringing the top of his revolver to his forehead. Jarvis and the boys had killed every last man in the street. They had taken out Rick's entire posse in one swoop. While he was thankful, it only raised the bounty on their heads. He slowly inched to the wall behind the counter, making his way to the door.

"Now…you step out here, real slow. You get on yer horse and you go back to yer wife. Nobody else has to die…", Jarvis continued as Daryl stood and ran through the door. He plastered himself to the back of the building, where he was able to take in the absolute carnage around him. Men lay all around, shot in various parts of their bodies. Many of them were kids, no older than sixteen. He sighed, and peeked around the side of the building, where Jarvis stood, atop a water tower, his rifle in his hands, "You okay, boss?!"

Daryl simply whistled, guiding Jarvis' attention to him. His younger partner smiled, and returned his eye to the homemade scope attached to the top of his rifle.

"Dixon! I wanted to work somethin' out! I wanted to let you go! This is what you do for freedom?", Rick called out, now walking into the streets with his hands pressed to the back of his head.

"My boys don't go by the same rules as yours, Sheriff! They're loyal! I can't help how they are!", Daryl returned, walking along the side of the building to reach his horse. Jarvis' smile radiated to his own. They had succeeded after all. Tonight…they would dine like kings, "I'd do what the man with the gun says, if I was you!"

Zed and Mart appeared, then. They were on horseback, and were guiding the remaining two horses with them carefully. Daryl grabbed the reigns of his giant black horse, and hoisted himself up, signaling with a whistle for Jarvis to do the same. The younger man climbed down, watching Daryl's pistol as it honed in on Rick's head, and ran across the street to mount his horse.

"Get on yer knees, Sheriff…", Daryl said softly, looking him straight in the eyes. The Sheriff gave a glare that sent chills down Daryl's spine, and he tilted his head in confusion again.

"You missed one…"

The attack was so fast that Daryl couldn't react. He kicked his horse's side, retreating as the rifle sounded, ricocheting off a rock in front of him.

"Jarvis! Find the sumbitch!", he yelled, as another shot was fired. The roar of their horses' feet was deafening, but the tree line grew closer with every clicking footstep. Daryl's heart began to slow, and his confidence level began to rise, because they were getting away with this. He had Rick Grimes scared and on his knees…and he was getting away with it.

"Sir…", a small whisper sounded from behind him. He turned slowly, furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of blood dripping from Zeds mouth, "Sir?.."

"No…NO!", Daryl screamed out, stopping his horse cold. Zed fell heavily from his own horse, smashing into the ground like a ragdoll. He had been shot in the back, and was as good as dead. Daryl knew, the second he climbed down from the horse, that the kid, barely fifteen years old, was dead. He ran to him, turning him over, as Jarvis stared on in confusion.

"Boss…We don't got time for…"

"Shut the fuck up! He's just a kid…He's just a…We ain't leavin' him here…", Daryl demanded, as he pushed the boy's hair from his face. His hands were quickly covered in blood that smeared as he moved. He grabbed the edges of Zed's shirt, ripping it open to see the wound. It was clean, straight through, from a rifle, "God dammit…Kid…heyheyhey…listen…shhh. Listen…"

Zed's sobs and growls of pain drowned the rifle shots that were still being fired in their direction, as Daryl attempted to comfort him.

"I thought we…I…I thought we g-g-got 'em.", Zed groaned, choking a bit on the blood that continued pouring from his lips. Daryl closed his eyes tightly, patting his younger friend on the chest.

"We did. D'ya see all them bodies, boy? You did that. We won…All that money…We're gonna get you back on yer feet and yer gon' be just fine…", he cooed. Jarvis continued to stare, as if his leader had lost his mind somehow. This was a new one. Daryl Dixon comforting a dying member? Death was nothing new. Why was this happening? He looked out over the horizon, noticing that the Sheriff was back on his horse, and was coming on quick.

"Boss."

"Shut up Jarvis…", Daryl whispered back at him, as Zed took his hand, "Yer gon' be okay…Kid? KID?!"

The boy's pupils dilated completely before Daryl's own eyes. He stared straight ahead, burning holes in Daryl's skull with his lifeless and bloody stare. Daryl reached a hand up, brushing his eyes closed, before removing his holster from his waist. He stood, his hands covered in blood, and silently walked back toward the horses. No sooner had he stood, than a final shot rang out, and a white-hot pain shot through his body.

He didn't cry out. He simply fell to his knees, staring into Jarvis' eyes.

"BOSS!", he heard Jarvis scream out, muffled by the roar of shock flooding his ears. He watched as Jarvis attempted to leave his horse, but was quickly stopped by Mart's hand, and a conversation. After a few heated moments, Jarvis turned to Daryl once more, with teary eyes, and kicked his horse, headed for the woods.

It was better that way. He was as good as dead, and they would be too, if they stayed. Although, Jarvis' loyalty to Mart, and not his leader, was disconcerting. All the thoughts ran though Daryl's mind, and then left him, as his face smashed against the dirt, and he lost consciousness.


	3. Chapter 2: The Gallows

**A/N: And the journey begins. I am pretty pleased with this chapter, and I still hope I'm doing the story the justice that you all hoped for. I have fun writing it, and I actually take my time with it.**

**Please leave a review if you have any questions or concerns...or criticism. I answer all reviews with a PM when I can, and I appreciate every single one. **

**Enjoy!**

**Edit/Warning: I edited the rape part out. Thought you should know, before you read. It's a little better, now. He still mentions it, because realistically, his group probably did rape women, and that's one of his charges.**

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Chapter 2: The Gallows

Bright light. Bright, natural light, and pain was all he felt. Daryl stirred, the hard bench behind him creaking as he moved his shoulders and winced in pain. Any movement was excruciating, but furthermore, the shot was to his back. Panic struck him, and he began wiggling his toes, satisfied that they touched both the top and bottom of his boot on queue.

As his ears began to clear from their coma-induced haze, he could make out the sound of a woman singing, in the background. The tune was familiar, and he winced a bit, trying to hear the words that flowed from her mouth, beautifully.

Oh of all the money e'er I had,

I spent it in good company.

And of all the harm e're I've done,

Alas! it was to none, but me.

And all I've done for want of wit

To memory now I can't recall.

So fill to me the parting glass,

Goodnight and joy be with you all

Goodnight and joy be with you…all...

He smirked at the tune. His mother had sung it a million times. She called it a song of home, whatever that meant. Either way, it brought back memories of his childhood, and was comforting, in such a painful state.

"Beautiful…", he murmured in a raspy voice, as the singing stopped. No one answered, but he could hear the sound of keys rattling against someone's leg, as they made their way across whatever room he was stuck in. He squinted, turning his head to look around. Great. He was in jail. The bars above his head, and to his right caused his stomach to drop, "Sheriff? I know you ain't got a voice like that…"

His teasing didn't go unnoticed, as the woman spoke up, "No one asked you to speak, you murderous piece of shit…"

"Whoa, princess…", Daryl retorted, "I thought you was someone else. What's goin' on here, anyway?"

"I don't answer to you…"

"Alright, then. Is there any way you could get the Sheriff in here, then?", Daryl asked, leaning up on his elbows to see her better. The silhouette he could make out in the bright sunlight was joke-worthy. The Sheriff had sent a very young, very scrawny female to watch over him? Wow.

"He's out. State's on their way down…So, he's gone to set up the gallows."

"The gallows? After all this, State wants me to hang?", Daryl asked. Why would someone save his life, only to hang him a day later? That was a waste of medicine and time. They should have just left him for dead.

"It's been a week. They've had plenty of time to decide that yer good for nothin'. It ain't like yer gonna be free."

Daryl attempted to reach forward to the bars, but the thick leather of the cuffs that bound his hands together prevented it. So, he turned to her, and smirked.

"See…I find it funny, this little show you're puttin' on."

"I ain't…", she started, but he raised a finger, and both eyebrows.

"'I don't answer to you.' But you did. I asked you a question…and you were right on top of it. You wanted to tell somebody…", he mused, watching her face drop into a sneer.

"Shut the hell up and be still!", she snapped, and for the first time, she raised a revolver, pulling the hammer back. Daryl stopped his movements, but his smirk didn't leave his lips.

"Alright. Ain't no need for guns, here. I ain't goin' nowhere. You ain't goin' nowhere. We might as well chat."

The girl's eyes narrowed as she held the gun loosely toward the bars. The gun was obviously not her own, as she had no clue how to hold the damn thing. One shot, and her nose would be history. He checked her entire body out, noticing a bulge around her tiny waist, under her oddly cut dress. The fact that she was in a dress was giggle worthy on its own. The fact that she though she was hiding the huge knife underneath was even better. He raised his eyebrows, sniggering a bit as he fiddled with the leather around his wrists.

"What the hell you laughin' at?", she asked, shaking the gun at him. He simply shook his head, and skillfully pulled one of his hands free of the restraints with a sigh. The girl took a shaky breath, biting her lip as he rubbed the wrist and placed both his hands on the bars to talk to her better.

"That's better. Let me see yer gun…", he commanded of her, stupidly.

"What? Do you think I'm stupid?!", she squealed, causing Daryl to wince. He hated being around women, especially bratty women.

"I just wanna show you somethin'…"

"You ain't gon' show me shit. Sit down.", she demanded, and Daryl obliged, backing away from the bars. He took a seat on the bench, and continued to watch her with a smile on his face.

"Yer holdin' that gun like a girl.", he murmured softly, and she began to shift around uncomfortably, "You gotta pull in that elbow, make the gun an extension of your arm. I'd hate for you to break that pretty little nose of yours."

"I know how to shoot a gun…"

"But not that gun.", he added, watching as her arm straightened out, her wrist dropped, and her eyes turned even more sinister. Daryl was suddenly weary of his babysitter, as she leaned against the Sheriff's desk, "My men…They gone?"

"Left you for dead like a piece of trash.", she said simply, and Daryl nodded. He knew that Jarvis had left him, thinking he was dead. There would be hell to pay on that side of things, but for now, he had to get out of here.

"You have any idea when they're hangin' me?"

"Evenin'. You know what? Just shut up. I don't answer to you.", the girl snapped again. She was damn annoying, but something in her eyes told Daryl that she wasn't here for the party, so to say. She was here for some sort of fulfillment; change.

"That's fine. May I ask yer name, miss?"

"No. You may not.", the girl said quickly, dropping the gun to her lap. She peered out the window, watching the men hard at work on the gallows. A single noose was thrown over, and Rick was busy hammering away at the trap door beneath. She sighed, picking at her fingers, and looked away.

"I've seen that look, before.", Daryl spoke up, playing at the weakness he saw in her character. She had never seen anyone die at the gallows in her life. She had never known a person that died in a violent way. She was a good girl, possibly a daddy's girl. What she was doing here, he couldn't place, but he knew one thing: She was afraid of him hanging, "I've seen it a million times. It's the look of guilt…almost remorse. You feel pity, that you're about to watch a man die."

"You think I pity you?", she asked with a scoff.

"I don't know about that. I know that yer a good person…", he almost whispered, "My name is Daryl Dixon…I've murdered twenty eight men, and my group...they raped women. I've done a lot of bad things in my life…"

"Just…stop…"

"I'm done ramblin'.", he admitted. He looked down at his hands, "I lost someone yesterday, a kid. He was an orphan who jumped a train we were robbin'. We don't kill kids, ya know? So…we took the kid under our wing. We taught him everything. He became real good at what he did. I didn't look out for him the way I should have…and he got shot, died in my hands…"

He glanced up, looking over her face for any sign of pity. Not surprisingly, he caught a hint of it in her glazed over eyes, which soon produced tears. She wiped her face quickly, laying the revolver on the desk beside her. Something about what he said had bothered her, shaken her to her core. Good.

"I'm finished with the game…"

"Yeah right.", she said simply. She pulled her legs up, flattening her dress over them. The action showed off a tattered pair of boots underneath, and Daryl smirked, as the front door swung open. The girl's legs fell from the desk, as she stood and picked the pistol up, trying to show her control over Daryl to whoever had just walked in.

"He caused any trouble?", the Sheriff called out, hanging up his hat. He stepped around the partition, and instantly met Daryl's eyes. The girl shook her head, "Good. I see you're awake…"

Daryl didn't say a word, as the girl met his eyes briefly, before gathering a few things from the desk. She headed for the door.

"Clara…", the Sheriff called to her. There it was, her name. Clara. Daryl murmured it silently, allowing it to roll off his tongue, "It's too much to ask. I know, but I have to. With recent events…I don't really have anyone to stay overnight. I've spoken with your uncle, and I've insured him of your safety, but he volunteered you to stay overnight…for watch."

Clara frowned; her face contorting into something that Daryl could only guess was fear, before she snapped, speaking much more proper and lady like than she previously had been.

"Do you often ask women to guard your wing, Mr. Grimes? Moreover…Do you often welcome unwilling women to guard your wing?"

Daryl raised his eyebrows, shifting his eyes from Clara to Sheriff Grimes, who seemed a bit frustrated. The Sheriff moved from one foot to the other, placing his hands on his hips, before thinking of the words he wanted to say. Daryl narrowed his eyes briefly, wondering if the Sheriff had forgotten he was in the same room.

"I don't. However, I don't have many options left. I'm not asking some unwilling woman to come and help. I'm asking you. I'm standing here in front of you, because I need someone to help me. You've been in this jail every day, watching and learning how to load guns. You know your way around. You'll be fine."

Clara sighed, her arms crossing across her body. She tore her eyes from Rick's and looked down at his feet, "Fine. I'll stay. Wait…I thought his execution was for this evenin'…"

"Change of plans. State didn't see him as a priority. 'Bigger fish to fry', they said. They sent some men down. They'll hole up in the inn tonight, and he'll hang at noon…hopefully with the other two men in his group.", Rick answered, and Clara sighed.

Daryl felt a bit of relief wash over him. He had more time.

"What do you need me to do?", Clara asked.

"Go home. Get some dinner and whatever you need…be back at sundown.", Rick answered, before turning to Daryl. Their eyes met, staring holes into each other's skull, until Clara spoke up one last time.

"Don't let him talk…", she said softly, and pushed through the front door.

* * *

The day wore on, reminding Daryl how boring it was to be stuck in one place. He was always on the move, before his capture. He always had something to attend to, or something to tear up. This. This was hell. No. This was probably worse than hell.

Sheriff Grimes was quiet after Clara left. He sat on his desk for a while, staring ahead at the bars, and waiting for Daryl to make a move. Then, he moved behind the desk, propping his feet up, and began dozing off. The thought of attempting an escape crossed Daryl's mind a few times, but just as quickly as the thought came about, Rick would awaken to check him over.

Daryl sighed, after a while, and lay back against the hard bench with some effort. He stared at the ceiling, before drifting into an uneasy and painful sleep.

* * *

"You don't talk to him. You don't show him the keys. You don't offer him water, or a pot to piss in. You sit behind that desk…You keep your gun ready…", Daryl made out as he stirred awake. He was a light sleeper. Being a wanted man would make you that way, in your paranoia. He opened one eye, peeking through the bars into the dark corner of the jail, by the door. He had been asleep a few hours, as the sun was down, and Clara had returned. He smirked, but didn't move, until he heard a soft protest from Clara, and the door closing behind the Sheriff.

Daryl listened to her boots pad across the creaky boards of the old station, as she took a seat on the corner of the desk, and her eyes began burning the side of his face.

"You keep starin' that way and I might get the wrong idea…", he murmured sleepily, not opening his eyes. She didn't respond, but kept staring. He listened closely, waiting for any movement toward the cell. The only sound that could be heard was the creaking of floorboards, as she shifted her weight, "We got all night. Feel free to chat…"

"Why should I?"

"Cause you ain't got nothin' better to do?", Daryl accused, opening both his eyes. He carefully pushed himself up, staying mindful of the patched wound plaguing his lower back.

"I can think of a million things better than talkin' to someone like you.", Clara retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. Daryl smirked, shaking his head and pulled the other hand free from its cuff. He tossed the pointless leather aside and rubbed his wrists.

"Maybe, but thanks to Sheriff Rick…I'm all you got, for right now. Yer sposed to watch me, right? Well, I ain't movin', miss Clara."

"Don't…You don't get to say my name…", Clara snapped once more. At that moment, Daryl decided that she would be his Judge, Jury, and Executioner. She would decide his fate on her own…

"Alright, miss. I'll just call you miss. Sheriff Grimes mentioned yer uncle. Where's yer parents?"

"Died when I was a baby…", she offered willingly. Daryl smirked, taking it nice and easy.

"What brings you around criminals, like this? Pretty dangerous…"

"Ain't dangerous when I'm the one with the gun. Don't ya think?", Clara asked. Her shoulders had begun to lower, and her stance had become more relaxed with every word she spoke. Daryl nodded, playing into her comfort. If he played his cards right, she would melt in his hands. If he played his cards right, he was home free, "I'm done talkin'. I've heard the stories…How you work over the rangers…kill 'em and do what you do. So, just shut up and sit tight…"

"I had planned to."

"What?", Clara asked, narrowing her eyes at him. He stood, took a step to the bars, and after a couple of seconds and a grunt, he pushed the cell open with one finger and a smile. Clara was up on the desk; gun in hand, before Daryl could take a step, "Stop! Stop right there! How the hell?"

"Shh. Just relax. If I wanted to kill ya, I would have…", Daryl explained, stepping toward the desk.

"That's far enough! I want to know how you did…that…"

Daryl looked back at the cell, and then to Clara, shrugging his shoulders, "Them cuffs were old. They were fallin' apart. Metal parts…notorious criminal…spells trouble, if you ask me."

"I'll kill you, right now."

"Nah, you wont. You know too much about me. It's personal…and you've never killed a man in cold blood…", Daryl whispered, once again taking a step toward her. Her hand was shaking, as she shoved the gun closer to his face. Reaching out, he took it from her, opened the revolver and dumped the bullets into his hand. He closed it, and set it down on the desk beside her, "Like I said…I don't wanna hurt you."

"Then what do you want? You had that planned…You should be outa here by now."

"I told you. I'm done runnin'. I've had my day…", he admitted, picking up a piece of paper from the desk. He looked it over, not truly interested in anything it said, and then glanced back up at Clara, "I do want to make you an offer…"

"Pfft. You…want to make me an offer…"

Daryl had to give it to her. She was braver than he had pictured. Although, she had to be pretty brave to begin with, to come in the same room as someone with his credentials. It was disturbing, actually.

"I can read it all over your face. You ain't a lady.", he said carefully. He watched the way her eyes dilated, the way she seemed to both resent and agree with what he was laying out for her, "And I know you don't wanna be here, anymore…"

She was stopped cold, her shoulders tightened so much that Daryl figured she was growing sore. She didn't respond, only listened as he drew a bit closer to her, running a finger up her arm, to her neck, and finally to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You scratch my back…I scratch yours, princess."

"Break you out?", she asked softly, trying to shy away from his touch. He ran a thumb over her cheek, her fear exciting him, more than it should have. Ten years ago, he would have played on the fear…and had his way with her. Today? He had business to attend to.

"No…no. Not break me out. You…can help me…by doing the right thing. You know me. I'm a nice guy, am I not?", he asked, running the same thumb over her chin, down her throat.

"Hospitable, yes…", she admitted, her answer coming only as a shaky breath.

"Good. Then, you make the call. I ride out of here tomorrow…on a horse…wanted or not, and I'll make sure that you never see this place again."

"I'm supposed to take you at your word?", Clara asked, as Daryl removed his hand from her, feigning offence.

"Have I given you any reason to doubt me, yet? Didn't think so…"

"But…I'll be wanted…", she spoke again. Daryl rolled his eyes.

"It's not like I want you as a pet, darlin'. I'll take you to Tombstone. It's a great place to start over. Whores do it all the time…Then, I'm out of yer life. Hopefully, you'll never see me again.", he backed away from her, judging her reaction. As she thought it over, he could see the wheels turning in her pretty little brain. Now was the moment that he hated, in these situations. He had to sit in this cell and wait, trusting on blind faith that this bratty woman would make a decision to save his life, or he could leave, now.

"I still don't understand. Why not just run, tonight?", Clara asked, as Daryl closed the door to his cell behind him.

"Because I'm hopin' I'm right. If it's in the plan for me to die…I'll hang tomorrow. Sleep on it. I ain't goin' nowhere…", he whispered, sitting down on the small bench. As he settled in for the night, he watched her. He watched her thinking things over, chewing her nails down to nubs. She unloaded and reloaded the large revolver several times, and finally leaned against the wall for a nap.

* * *

"So this is Dixon…", an older man called out, watching Daryl sleep, as if he were a zoo animal. Daryl opened an eye, and watched the man step back from the bars, watching with weary eyes. Daryl smirked.

"And yer the Governor…"

"You should show a bit of respect…", the Governor called out, and Daryl scoffed.

"Respect for the man whose about to watch me hang? Yeah…that's not my style. How you doin' anyway? How's yer wife?"

"You son of a bitch!", the Governor called out, stepping forward toward the bars. Rick was there immediately, wrapping an arm around his chest to pull him back. Daryl laughed, his evil side peeking through as he watched the show, and sat up from the bench.

Truth was, the Governor's wife was one of the unfortunate women in the crossfire, at one point. Daryl's group had enjoyed themselves, taking turns with her, before they strung her up, and cut her ear-to-ear. The thought brought an evil smirk to his lips as he watched the Governor struggle against Rick's control.

"Sheriff…you should calm your friend. Phillip here seems a little riled.", Daryl laughed, as Rick managed to push the Governor toward the desk, where Daryl noticed Clara, watching the show, "Oh, it's alright Miss Clara. My boys did most of her damage…I just held her arms for them."

He winced as Clara closed her eyes in disgust. She scooted from the desk, and made her way to the door. Rick seemed to watch Daryl, as he followed her with his eyes.

"Hey! You sick son of a bitch…You keep yer eyes here. Right…here…"

"Yes sir!", Daryl mocked, holding his freed hands out to the sides of his head in surrender, "I just wanted to say my goodbyes…I'm a dead man, right? Miss Clara and I…we're like this. Tight as two ticks. You picked a really nice babysitter…"

He crossed his fingers over each other in reference, until a gun was flung through the bars, smashing into his nose. He groaned loudly, grabbing the nose in his free hand, as the cell was opened, and both his hands were wrenched behind his back. As the blood trickled down his face, he didn't struggle. He let the men tie his hands behind his back, even holding his hands together for them, and proceeded to allow them to drag him toward the door.

"What's goin' on?", Clara asked as they passed her. Daryl didn't catch her eyes, as he willingly walked along between the men, much to the Governor's dismay.

"We're doing this now. Time to end this…", Rick answered. Clara's surprise was met by Rick's suspicion, but he continued to walk Daryl out onto the streets. The people were not welcoming, as they pummeled him with rocks, and trash. A few of the women gained swipes on him with ropes and switches as he passed. He didn't flinch, keeping his pace along with both the older men, "Do you wish for us to call you a preacher?"

"Nah. God don't want nothin' to do with me, Sheriff. Me and the Devil…we're pretty close…", Daryl answered, staring down at the gravel as they walked.

"Suit yerself…Clara, you go get…", Rick started, "Clara?"

Daryl smirked. The girl was nowhere around. She wasn't coming to watch. She was running for the hills, just as he had figured or she was organizing. Either way, he had changed her mind, about himself. There it was, his redemption. He would die a redeemed man. He would die on good terms, and he was fine with that.

They reached the gallows, met by some official looking men. Daryl didn't know how all this stuff worked. He just knew that they tied your legs together, and dropped you through a hole. Sometimes you died and sometimes you strangled to death. Whatever was in between was a mystery.

"Stand there…", the Governor demanded, shoving Daryl toward a sketchy box of hardwood, positioned under a noose. He glanced up at the noose, in wonder, before staring out over the crowd. It was a small crowd, but they were vicious. He could only assume that he had killed a few of their family members. He would have waved at them, had his hands not been tied in such an awkward position.

"Daryl Lee Dixon…You have been found guilty of murder, rape, and robbery. All accounts have been proven, and you have been sentenced to death by hanging. Do you have any last words?", the governor read off a pre-written, and overused piece of paper. Daryl smiled, watching the rope lower itself to rest upon his shoulders. The man behind him tightened it, and then adjusted its position slightly.

"It's been fun…", Daryl called out to the crowd, closing his eyes as he watched Rick give the silent order for him to drop.


End file.
